


Hidden by leaves

by pandafish



Series: When trees can talk [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:55:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandafish/pseuds/pandafish
Summary: Daryl and Rick find five women while on a hunt. So who are they?During Alexandria, before Jesus, after the wall comes down.





	1. Hidden by leaves

Chapter 1

They’d been walking for about half an hour now. Daryl had parked the camper in an abandoned warehouse, then they’d checked the map to find the trail leading to what was supposed to be a small village. The road had been blocked by fallen trees when they’d tried taking the short way, and they weren’t so keen on driving the extra forty-or-so miles for what could be just a few cans of soda. So now the two of them were in the middle of the woods, walking in silence since none of them enjoyed small-talk very much.

Daryl was busy pulling an arrow out of a squirrel when Rick saw it. The hawthorn bushes were thick around the area about twenty meters away from them, the green branches mixing with fallen leaves on the ground slowly going brown while October crept upon them, but the former officer saw the bright blue that didn’t belong there. 

“Daryl”. His voice came out in a hushed whisper, while he made his steps quiet and walked in closer. The hunter looked up from his belt where he was attaching the dead animal. A frown appeared on his face when he realized Rick were heading somewhere. He licked the warm, sticky blood off his fingers before hitching his crossbow up to rest on his arm while he raised it. 

Getting closer, Rick saw the blue belonged to a backpack, the colorful kind hikers wore (or well, used to wear). Instantly every single muscle in his body tensed and he got the gun up faster than he could finish his breath. Silently looking back at the younger man he waved him over with a finger and made sure to keep a watchful eye on his surroundings while carefully treading forward, mindful of the leaves at his feet, A few steps in and he saw a small pile of wood with a thin trail of smoke rising up from it. A fire. Next to it a couple of blankets, another bag and a water-bottle. He stopped in his tracks when he realized what it was.

A camp.

But where were the people? Were they even people anymore?

“Ah shit”. He heard Daryl’s thick accent just a few steps behind him, and when he cast an eye over his shoulder he saw the other had lowered his crossbow and kicked away an empty can of beans. At his reprimanding look Daryl just shrugged.  
“They ain’t here man. Might’swell get somethin’ out of it” he told Rick while crouching and pulling out the blue bag out of the hawthorn bushes. The moment he laid his blood-stained hand on it a voice rang through the empty forest. They froze.

“Step away from the bag”

Daryl instinctively looked around to find the source of the voice while quickly standing and raising his crossbow ready to kill. Frustration was evident in his eyes when he couldn’t find it. The hunter did not like being played. That didn’t change just because the situation was lethal.  
“Step away from the bag and leave, or die”

Whoever was speaking was female, and sounded young. Rick turned his head around searching while keeping his feet steady in one point with his gun poised. It seemed to be coming from above them. It didn’t make any sense.

“Come out, we can talk about this” Rick said out to the open air since he didn’t know in which direction he should be talking to. “We don’t want to hurt you. But frankly…” he looked around the disheveled camp and raised one eyebrow, like the person talking could see him. “You won’t survive like this for long. It’s getting cold out here”. And it was. Rick was lucky Maggie had thrown his fur-collared jacket at him before they left. In just a month it would start dropping below freezing at night, and without shelter…keeping a fire all night would draw the walkers to it, and the option was just a tiny bit better. 

The voice said nothing. Daryl in the meantime looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Actually Daryl didn’t know whether Rick was being stupid enough to try and recruit this person (or people; they had no idea how many they were and Rick knew that, the bastard), or cruel enough to lure them out so he could shoot them dead. After a few seconds of intense staring-beneath-his-hair and Rick trying to tell him something completely non-understandable with his eyes, the woman spoke – “Look, right now we see you and you don’t see us, which puts us in quite an advantage point, ain’t that right? So why don’t you take your friend with the crossbow here and leave us alone. No one has to get hurt today”. The words were steady, calm, almost like the voice itself was deadly, not the threat it imposed. Rick looked up, thinking it had to come from somewhere.

The trees. 

The moment he realized it he raised his gun higher, trying to quietly walk towards the trunk of the one nearest to him, keeping his eyes in level with the thick roof of leaves above them.

“Stop right there”. He froze. Looked over at Daryl. Then opened his mouth slowly, let his words form in the back of his throat before he spoke them out loud, carefully treading around sounding like he was threatening them. “We can work this out. You’re right; no one has to get hurt today. We have a place, okay?” Ignoring the furious motion Daryl made waving his hand in front of his throat signaling cut it out, he continued. “It’s not far from here. We have walls. Food. Weapons. Look, I know you have no reason to trust us, and we sure as hell have no reason to trust you, but I…I’ve seen too many people die recently to leave you out to die in the cold”. The way he looked down to his feet before he said the last part of the sentence made Daryl understand. Jessie. The kids.

Daryl got it. He did. After he’d lost Merle the first time, up on that god forsaken roof, he wanted nothing more than to find that little girl for Carol. Sophia. He hadn’t really known her, she was pretty scared of him considering in her child-eyes he was just an angry man with a crossbow, but he just couldn’t leave another person behind. He supposed Rick must feel the same way. He’d lost so many…

While the hunter looked at Rick’s eyes, their quick display of emotion, the voice hesitated. When it was done thinking, it came out with a hard undertone. Bitter. “You’re right” she said, mimicking Rick’s words. “We can’t trust you”

The older man’s shoulders slumped together at the words. Then he suddenly looked over at the hawthorn bush. The bright blue bag were still lying where Daryl had dropped it. With one quick look at the hiding place up in the slowly decaying leafy mess, he took three strides and knelt down, ripping it open where he sat.

“Step away from the bag!” The voice got angry, but instead of frantic it just grew steel hard. Daryl aimed his crossbow at the point he thought the noise was coming from, covering Rick. 

Surgical suture, needles for it, antibiotics, some painkillers, gauzes…pre-natal vitamins. 

“Step away from the bag, now!” Before any of them had time to register it, a sleek brown arrow whistled by them and buried itself in the thick trunk of a tree about three inches from Rick’s face. Daryl only had a second or so to admire the craftsmanship in the making of that arrow, the perfectly balanced wild turkey feathers, before Rick held up the bag and spoke out into the open air, loud and clear.  
“We have a doctor. She’s training to be a surgeon. If there is someone among you that’s pregnant, we can help. I have two kids of my own, on born in this hell world, so believe me when I tell you people you need help on this. Can’t deliver a baby in a tree”.

Silence. Just the wind rustling the dead leaves on the ground, no dead making noises. Just the living, holding their breath in the tension. 

Suddenly it snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. Simultaneously, it began to rustle all around the two men. They quickly turned in circles, weapons poised and ready. Then, one by one, people began to…drop, out of the trees and on the ground. Daryl threw Rick a side glance, eyebrows furrowed, while the older man was still clutching the bag in one strong hand.

The people coming out from their hiding place all quickly composed themselves and raised bows with the arrowheads pointing directly at their targets in the middle of the uneven circle forming. In fact they weren’t just “people”, they were all…women. Daryl made a fast calculation in his head and counted five youths surrounding them, moving his crossbow from place to place, not knowing where to aim. Rick apparently had the same problem. Shit, went through the hunters head along with all the other curses he could remember Merle teaching him under the kitchen table when he was seven. Had they finally fucked up big time?

Before he could finish that train of thoughts, one of the young women stepped forward, tentatively but with bold steps. She was pale as a walker and had her head shaved, except for one string of hair stretching from her forehead down to the back of her skull, just over the top of her head and down, which she wore in a French braid tightly wrapped. In her left eyebrow she wore three piercings in a row, another two in her under lip, one to the left and one to the right, and Daryl could glimpse steel rings in her ears too. Her footfall made heavy by her combat boots was silenced by the decayed leaves on the ground. She was only a few feet away when she spoke. Never once did she lose eye contact with Rick.

“If this is a trick I will rip your throat open myself. The last person who tried to fool us ended up in a tree too – he’s still there”. She was the one who’d been speaking to them before. Her tone left no room for argument. With the point of the arrow just a slip of a finger away from boring itself into the officers eye socket, he held up both hands, took his finger away from the trigger, and asked – 

“How many walkers have you killed?”


	2. Ride Home

The whole group walked in silence. The leaves rustled sometimes, but other than that and the odd walker groaning through rotten vocal chords, the numbed thump when it was shot down by one of Daryl’s arrows, it was quiet. Rick could all but feel the bows still being raised around them even if his own hand-gun was held loosely by his side. He didn’t blame them. Couldn’t. Was still trying to figure out if he’d just went and done a stupid-ass move, but each time he looked to his left he saw her and the voice in his head told him to shut up. 

The girl must have been at least five months in judging by the baby bump pushing out the ratty old flannel shirt, original color completely unidentifiable, and remembering Lori both through Carl’s and little Judith’s pregnancy Rick felt a twitch in his hand every time he cast a side-way glance at her. With her short-kept afro, dark skin and about 5’4 she looked nothing like his late wife, but in her determined, coffee-colored eyes Rick saw Lori’s scared ones. He had to turn away and focus on finding his way back to the camper while digging his nails into the dirty palm of his hand to stop the tears from breaking through. Not a good first impression, breaking down in the woods. 

Daryl on the other hand kept his crossbow ready to shoot through the entire walk. Hell, he barely trust the people back at Alexandria, he wasn’t about to go and let his guard down on these people. Pregnant lady or not. 

In his head he replayed the look on the young woman’s face when Grimes had asked his first question. Through all her icy exterior the hunter didn’t miss the flash of emotion going through her features, that quick confusion as she tried to figure out whether he was playing her or not. “As many as necessary to stay alive” she bit back, Rick nodding. He wasn’t dumb, he could see these girls were survivors. Nothing like the people holed up behind the walls of home, at least before Rick’s group did their number on them. But staying hid up in a tree meant they knew what outside was, they knew how to kill. Still, he needed those three questions out in the open before he could even consider bringing them close to his kids. 

“How many people have you killed?”

Daryl remembered the answer. It was still in the back of his head, like an itch while he tried not turning his head and staring at the girls like an idiot. Daryl didn’t look at people all that much. Made him uncomfortable. But damn, that answer made it hard for him not to. 

She hadn’t let down her guard for a second. Her arms were just as strong as Daryl’s, he knew it if she could keep her bow up for that long. She just met his stare with an equally hard look for a few terrible, never-ending heart-beats. Then she spoke; “Count for yourself”. She made a gesture with her head. “One for each piercing. That goes for all of us”

And the two men had looked that time, realizing that all of them wore the steel in their face and ears. Another quick calculation made by the hunter got him up to around twelve for the girl speaking, fewer for the rest of them. Rick turned his eyes back to her, eyes unreadable but he nodded slowly anyway. Next question came out like a rasp, accent thick against the quiet surrounding them.

“Why?”

A sudden noise to his right made Daryl snap out of his daydream. He mentally scolded himself for losing focus, quickly raising the crossbow and looking towards the noise. He just had time to see a knife slip out of the eye-socket of a walker, half-bones already, and falling right next to one of the girls. The blood was barely visible against her dark skin, but she wiped it off against her pants anyway, throwing Daryl a look for missing that one. He huffed and looked away. Refused to be looked at like that. But he gave himself another mental beating for actually missing that one. This world didn’t allow slip-ups. 

“Our camper is just inside that building. How ‘bout you stay here while we bring it out?” Rick spoke as they reached the little dead town, signaling towards the ware-house with a snap of his neck. The women looked at each other for confirmation, but the one with the braid nodded in the end, accepting. The two men went off, and tried not to back into anything steely and wake up the entire surroundings. 

The girl who’d killed the walker looked impressed as they rolled up in front of her, putting her hand on the hood as it stopped.   
“How’s this thing still running?” she asked, not even looking at Rick while he hid a smile and watched her bend over and check the wheels. “We got a good mechanic back home” he answered, remembering Dale trying to teach Glenn back at Hershel’s farm. They were damn lucky he managed to get the skills through his pizza-delivering head, otherwise this hell-ride would’ve been lying dead in a ditch a long time ago. 

He was just about to reach for the door and get in when a pale hand suddenly blocked his way and slammed against the side of the camper. Rick subconsciously took a step back, the girl with the braid standing broad-legged in front of him.   
“Yeah, we’re not stepping into that thing until you tell us exactly where we’re heading, alright officer?”   
Rick was totally thrown off by the title she’d just used. No one called him that anymore, except for Daryl when he was being a tease. “How did you…” he started but she interrupted him; “The gun. Only cops wear those along with that attitude of yours”. He looked down at his handgun confused before she caught his attention again, repeating her first question. He nodded and looked around at the whole group while he spoke.

“It’s called Alexandria. It got walls, good walls, and is self-supporting with water and a good stock-up on food. It’s been up from the start, but me and Daryl over here…” he ignored the glare Daryl sent him at revealing his name. “…we’re rather new. The people who lived there first took us in, were good to us. We got ourselves a doctor, and that’s all you need to know so far really”. He turned to the braided girl. “That good enough for ya?” he asked, accent thick again. This time when she looked up at him her height didn’t matter for shit, he felt like he was the one being towered. Rick noticed a faint scar right across her cheekbone. She narrowed her eyes almost unnoticeable. “Then why are you taking us in? If you got somethin’ good running?”

Fair question. Rick let out a breath, swiped his hand across his damp forehead due to the humid air before placing them on his hips. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I guess what happened…this” he said making a motion with his hands, from the buildings with the crushed windows to the road with the blood and guts from a recent walker still smeared all over it. “This hasn’t changed all of me yet. Plus we both know that we’re stronger together. We got a lot of people back there, but not a lot of fighters. We need each other” he said, hushed. He made sure she met his stare. “We could work this out so it benefit the both of us. You could’ve killed us already, stolen our ride. But you didn’t. That gotta mean somethin’, right?”

Silence. Then a quick nod. That was it really. The girls started walking towards the camper, each one stepping inside after she’d gone in, and Rick looked to Daryl with a faint smile knowing he’d managed their trust for at least a little while. He was just about to step forward when the last girl stopped. The pregnant girl. She hesitated with her foot on the lowest step. Rick could see her staring intently at her feet while biting her lip, the skin of it worrying around her teeth. 

“Thank you”

It came out as a whisper, then she was gone, but Rick smiled, looking down. Daryl frowned. He didn’t see the man smile all that much anymore. 

-

Rick drove (he always got to drive, that bastard) which meant Daryl was stuck on watch in the back with the girls. Being crammed up so close to stranger made him struggle not to squirm uncomfortably amongst the bags they’d brought along from their hiding place in the threes. It reminded him of that one time Merle had taken him to one of his friend’s houses. He’d went off to score some drugs in the bathroom with the junkie owning the place, leaving Daryl behind in the living room with two older girls sitting on the couch wearing the smallest dresses he’d ever seen. They must have been at least twenty years old, but Daryl had only been thirteen at the time. Still; he’d know enough to get that they were prostitutes, probably hanging around for drugs like Merle. Hell, maybe the guy was even their pimp. For Daryl though, who hadn’t gotten much of a friendly touch since his mom died and who weren’t all that sure he wanted to be touched at all, having to sit through half-an-hour and trying to make the girls understand he wasn’t interested without actually talking to them felt a bit like this. Made him uneasy. 

It didn’t take a turn for the better when one of them, the shortest one with dirt-blonde hair in a mess all around her head, got up from her seat after three whole minutes of intently staring at him from beneath her curls, and sat beside him. Practically on him. Then she leaned impossibly close, making Daryl’s body go into flight-mode and back itself up as much as it could the few inches that were left between him and the wardrobe-wall of the camper. What she did next just freaked the hell out of the hunter – she actually smelled him. 

“You smell like soap”. Her voice was raspy, sort of a bit torn, and she made the statement like it was blatantly obvious, but still managed to sound accusing. Daryl flinched at the way her arm pressed against his own, and glared at her. Holy hell. Her hair really was a mess. He wasn’t even sure it was hair anymore. Just a big bundle of dirty strands. Well, he’d obviously seen dreads before on Michonne, but this just wasn’t it. If anything it was one big dread. Jeez. No wonder she’d noticed he’d smelled like soap.

That’s when he realized what she’d actually said. Soap? The hunter frowned and very discreetly tried to turn his head an inch to the left and smell his own armpit. Okay, admittedly he’d been taking a few more showers than what he’d done when they’d been out of a place to stay, but he hadn’t gone and turned clean. He muttered something inaudibly at her. Glared at the one with the braid, like she was somehow responsible. She just barely raised an elbow in a shrug. Maybe she wasn’t as much of a leader as he’d thought. Daryl did not miss the flash of smugness in her face though. He narrowed his eyes at her as the camper turned to a smaller road, decreasing the pace. 

“Hey!” The sudden grunt he let out startled one of the girls that was sitting cross-legged on the floor. His hand raised quickly to push away the girl next to him, who’d unexpectedly put her hand inside his vest and was feeling around in his inner pocket. “Ge’off me” he grumbled, accent making the worlds melt together. Pulling away she dragged out his lighter.

“You smoke?” she asked, holding the little device close to her face, right beneath her nose in which she bore an actual safety pin. Daryl thought it looked weird half-covering both her nostrils, but he wasn’t one to judge. Except when people took his stuff. “Ye. What abou’ it?” he muttered, making a move to snatch it out of her grip, but she was too fast. She looked at him amused. “Can I have one? If I give it back?” Something changed in her voice. She lit up, and suddenly she sounded more like a child. Daryl frowned. With a wary glare from beneath his hair he gave a quick nod. The giggle she let out was over in a second, but she looked absolutely delighted when she tossed the lighter back to him. Her strange accent protruded when she reached her dirty little hand for him to shake, and said; “I’m Katja. You’re Daryl”. Very matter-of-factly, like a kid. He wondered how old she was. Where she came from. She wasn’t American, that’s for sure. 

When he didn’t reach his hand out her demeanor changed. Like a cold wind had just howled through her insides and swept the arctic air across the bones of her face, her expression fell. Stiffened like ice. 

“When someone wants to shake your hand the polite thing is to do it. I’d suggest you follow that social convention even though there’s no society to support it no more”. This came from the girl with the braid. She studied them from her seat, not taking her eyes of the interaction like she was ready to pounce any moment if shit went bad. Daryl didn’t understand what was going on. It made him even more wary of these people. But before he could get himself into something unwanted, he glared one last time at Johanna and shoved his hand forward. Instantly she lit up again, and shook his hand with fervor, like she’d just been offered a toy. 

Before she could say something else they were interrupted by Rick from the front seat.  
“We’re here guys. Welcome to Alexandria”


	3. Basement conversations

Their arrival weren’t…unproblematic. Leaving just the two of them and returning with the camper full of armed strangers wasn’t exactly ideal, but Rick talked them into not tying them up. Given that he was usually one of the most non-risky people in there, he agreed that locking them into the basement until the adults of this place had talked the situation through was necessary. Only problem was – the girls did not like that idea. They refused to give up their weapons. It was just about to turn into a full fight between them before Daryl spoke up, having had enough of them being assholes.

“Alright guys, shut up! It’s not like they’re goin’ to shoot their way out of concrete walls with bow and arrow, so what they gon’ do?” he glared at them, pacing the grounds like he always did when he felt pissed. “Just ge’off their backs. Five girls against what, our group? C’mon people”. He spat at the ground, done speaking. The moment he stopped he could feel Sasha’s stare burning into his face. She gripped her shotgun tighter, took a step into his personal space and got out between gritted teeth; “Fine. But you’re on watch Dixon. You both put us into this situation when we’ve barely had enough time to breathe from the wall coming down”.

Daryl groaned inwardly, but only answered with a glare. Stuck on watch again? What was he, their baby-sitter?   
“Hold up. Wouldn’t it be safer to divide them? I mean, doesn’t feel right leaving just Daryl – no offense dude – with a bunch of strangers”. Tara did have a point. But the braided girl stepped up again, arguing that they would not tolerate being separated and alone. Tara glanced around at people, a bit insecure about if it was too out of place for her to make too many suggestions. She wasn’t exactly a given leader. “Well…two in one basement and three in another one?”

People looked around at each other. They all deemed it a fair arrangement, Tara stepping up as the second to take watch. 

-

Since it seemed a better idea Daryl took on more (actually only because he was a lot more intimidating than Tara with her ponytail and the slightly confused look about her), he got the girl with the braid, the pregnant one and the deranged one. Sorry. Katja. But to be fair there was something up with her. The first thing she did after walking through the door of the basement was dump her weapon and bag on the floor and then found herself an old bucket of red house-paint and hug it to her chest. Daryl decided to ignore her. She seemed harmless enough. 

He watched in silence as the braided one helped the pregnant girl off with her bag which allowed her to slide down and sit against the wall. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly, looking at what seemed to be practiced routine even though she weren’t very big yet. Awkwardly he posed himself a bit to the side (a habit of making himself a smaller target) and waved his hand a bit. “Does she like…need anythin’ or so?” he asked the braided one. The only thing he got back was a glare, which he thought were unfair. “You know, you can ask her yourself”. Narrowing his eyes, he grunted back. “No need to be so goddamn rude abou’ it missy”. 

To his surprise her features actually softened at that. Removing her own bag, she hesitated a second before placing it on the dirty floor. “Guess not” she mumbled. Then she, almost, comically, placed herself just like Daryl showing only her side to him. It probably wouldn’t have been noticeably to anyone else, but the hunter got it when she reached out her hand towards him. “Name’s Joan”. As they shook hand the pregnant girl peered up at him and ran a hand through her afro. “I’m Charlene, but I ain’t getting up”. That drew an unsuspected smile out of the hunter. Or if you could call a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth a smile. He decided it was.

-

“We don’t even know how many they are. What if there’s a whole group of them just waiting to have the gates opened from the inside?” Sasha stood broad-legged with her rifle across her body, making it very clear she was not happy about this. They were all situated in the small pavilion up on by the little pond, every adult except Tobin and Rosita who was on watch. They were still working on pulling out all the bodies from the water, but they were definitely getting there so there was no harm in stopping the work for an hour or so. Michonne, Glenn and Aaron were still in their gloves and wellies. 

“She’s got a damn good point. I don’t know about you folks, but I ain’t so keen on getting caught with my pants down no time soon after things went piss-straight down the pipe last time”. Glenn stared at Abraham for a second, translating in his head what the militant man said before he spoke his meaning too, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion. “But if they’re supposed to be infiltrators, why would they send a pregnant lady? Isn’t that a risk most safely not taken?” he asked, thinking that if he was in on a plan like that, he’d never even imagine sending Maggie in amongst a whole camp full of unknown people. He couldn’t even think of any group that would. 

Rick appreciated Glenn being on his side, but he made sure to let everyone finish. This wouldn’t work if he forced another decision upon them. But when Glenn had gone silent he put his hands to his hips and squinted his eyes to the sun before asking them to reconsider. “You weren’t there guys” he told them, keeping his tone low and reasonable. “These women…they were hiding in trees. For all we know that’s been the only camp they’ve had. And me and Daryl, we barged straight into it without even sensing the danger”. He turned to Sasha. Looked at her, silent plead in his eyes as the hot sun beat down on his already sweat-soaked back. “They could’ve killed us. Two clean shots, taken our gear. But they didn’t”. He spoke up, made sure everyone heard him. “They didn’t. They would protect that bag with medical supplies with their lives, but they wouldn’t waste anyone else’s for nothing. Now – I know there’s no way to ensure they aren’t in fact spies, but I for one thinks Glenn’s right. Why risk it?”

The quiet settled for only a moment when he was done speaking. Then the argument flared up again like a house-fire. Rick sighed. He just hoped Daryl and Tara weren’t too hungry. For the looks of it, they’d be stuck there for a while. 

-

“ – found us, took us in at the point of starvation. We were down to eatin’ a pack of dogs” Daryl explained, answering Joan’s questions about Alexandria. As he said that last part about the dogs he could see Charlene slightly bend herself over her stomach, and a worried frown flashed his face before she raised her hand to calm him. During the fifty minutes they’d stayed together cramped up like this the two of them had developed a system for communication since Daryl was utter crap when it came to pregnant women. He’d even gutted a squirrel right in front of Lori once in her seventh month. She’d thrown up and he’d been even more uncomfortable than before. Not that he had any idea of if Charlene even needed some kind of help, he knew she was his responsibility now and Rick would be pissed if he didn’t pull himself together for this one. 

“Don’t worry man. I ain’t sick, just…hungry. Was a while ago we had something as good as dog”. Once again he found his mouth twitching in his way of smiling. He’d taken to like this one. Not that he’d admit that. 

While they were talking Katja had started rocking herself back and forth with the bucket of paint in her lap, humming completely out of tune but seeming to be amusing herself. The man cast an eye at her. Turning back, he discreetly nodded his head towards the young girl.   
“Wha’ happened?” he asked, keeping a low tone. Joan looked a bit surprised at his question. He hadn’t struck her as a curious kind of guy.

“Not sure. We found her a few weeks after things went bad”. Katja took no notice of the fact that they were talking about her. “She’d shut herself up in a small cottage just outside of Montgomery. First we thought it was some kind of…burial place”. She looked down on the bow in her lap, chewed one of her piercings. “The place was packed with bodies. Five of them were perched on top of each other to block the door, and another fourteen had been dragged inside. It still amazes me how she could stand the smell, living like this. She didn’t talk back then, but judging by the opened cans of food and the…excrement to be polite about it, she’d been inside that cottage for at least a week”. Throwing a glance at the girl, who’d now taken to stare at the roof while being completely silent, Daryl could sense a faint smile ghosting across her pierced lips. “Smart girl. She knew the stench would keep the corpses out. The dead walking around” she explained to the man. “Anyway we have no idea how she ended up here. She’s only sixteen for Christ sake. Sometimes though…she’ll tell these stories, stories about where she came from. I think you figured from her accent she ain’t American. Judging by the tales of the snow and the woods, and the foreign words she’ll repeat in her sleep if she’s having a worried night, we’ve been guessing...Scandinavia?” When Daryl made a move to respond, she beat him to it. “There’s no point asking. Seriously. Just leave her to it” she said watching Katja slowly raise her hand above her, like she was reaching for something. “She’s tough as nails though”. Joan turned her steel colored eyes towards the hunter, hell’s fire in her look. “I wouldn’t trade her for any trained killer inside these walls”. That was the end of that topic. 

A silence occurred. Maybe it wasn’t awkward, but for Daryl, it sure as hell was uncomfortable. Despite the talk they’d been having, he needed some more time before he could let himself go around these people. 

The hunter noticed Charlene looking around in the basement, noticing the shelves and the working bench in the corner. There weren’t much to look at, but she pointed towards one of his knives driven into the wood of the working bench, and newly made arrows scattered around it. “This is your basement?” she asked. Daryl nodded. “Your house?” She looked surprised, and it was hardly in him to blame her. Who even had their own house nowadays? “Nah” he answered. “Share it. My basement though”. 

He saw she’d noticed the piled of blankets and the scruffy pillow beneath the bench, but he was thankful she didn’t mention them.

Instead she got up, holding the wall for support. Instinctively Daryl placed his hand on the trigger of the crossbow (loaded and ready), but she only walked past him to the arrows. Ignoring the knife she picked up one of them and turned it to examine the feathers. “Is this owl?” The hunter picked up this conversation easily, being on safe waters when it came to this. He was thankful once again.

-

It had taken them a lot of negotiations, but after about one and a half hour most people (except Sasha) agreed they could stay. Ground rules were no guns, no bows, but knives were okay. They’d be given their own house to share and not be allowed outside the walls for the first two weeks until they’d made sure they weren’t trying to contact anyone on the outside. Also, they would be kept under observation for the first time, but could help out with removing the bodies and dig for the new crops they were planning on setting as soon as everything was set up, so they could start growing their own food. In the end they all sort of accepted that with the losses they suffered when the herd came through the walls and the Wolves got in was a set-back, and they needed all the fighters they could get now that one group had already successfully breached the walls. But all in good time. First – they’d help inside. 

Only one problem left really. Breaking the news to the girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you like the start of this series. Please tell me what you think! xx


	4. Examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know the girls a bit further

“If you’d just lay back here I’ll be right with you” Denise said while rearranging the pillows on the bed and stepping away to let Charlene let lean back against them. Rick was a bit impressed over how professional Denise had started to sound while talking to her “patients”. Since the last attack and all the involuntary training she’d gotten she had really stepped up her game, with burning through most of the books she had and making sure the others brought back the medical supplies she needed. Charlene, a week later, still did the initial stalking around the room to check for potential danger, but she seemed pretty alright with Denise. Safe enough to pull up her shirt and expose her distended belly. They’d all learned fairly quickly she was somewhat protective about the bump, not exactly the type to let anyone put their hands on it like people usually did with pregnant people.

“Ookay” Denise breathed while opening her drawers. “I’m afraid I don’t have the medical equipment to properly examine you, but –“ she said and turned for a quick smile against Charlene. “I promise to do my best”. The young girl deemed it fair, and let Denise place the stethoscope against her skin, breath hitching just a tad at the cold metal. 

The new group seemed to be settling…okay. Honestly they hadn’t really left their house much. Carol had taken to leave food at their doorstep, and Charlene would only accept Rick to guide her to the infirmary when he eventually came for her. After some more heated discussion the five of them had agreed to have their arrows taken away, but would not give up their bows. Rick just hoped they would grow accustomed to the situation here and start getting to know their people. What the Alexandrians needed most of all right now was some stability, and having five strangers shutting themselves up and taking their food was not setting a calming example of what hospitality would bring them. 

Denise made some noises in her throat while moving around the stethoscope, pulling back a bit to ask her to pull her shirt a bit higher so she could listen to the mother’s heart. Since bras where a rare breed these days she wasn’t wearing one, and Rick tried not to notice the fact that she had to bars of metal pierced through each nipple, much darker than the smooth skin around them. Once again he wondered about the whole ordeal with their piercings. The answer they had given to the last of their three questions had been enough for him though, and he wasn’t one to pry in personal matters as long as they didn’t pose a threat to him or his family. “We’re not murderers”. The voice of Joan standing with her bow drawn in the midst of the fallen leaves in the woods came back to him. “But anyone who hurts us, won’t live long enough to feel remorse. It’s too late for people to change. We do whatever it takes to survive. You’d better remember that”.

“Huh”. Denise huff pulled him out of his thoughts. Removing the stethoscope all together, she opened a couple of more drawers before checking Charlene’s blood pressure, brows furrowing at the results. Continuing, she placed tender hands on her stomach and carefully felt around, pressing on different spots. When she pulled away this time, she sighed before she spoke.

“I get a heart-beat, but it isn’t strong. You’ve got a low blood-pressure too, and I’m not gonna lie; you’re not exactly in the best condition to carry a baby right now. Have you been eating consistently?” Charlene shifted a bit in the narrow bed, boots soiling the white covers slightly since she’d kept them on. Her skinny knees knocked together and she had something unreadable in her eyes, automatically making Rick shift and place his hands on his hips, like he’d done whenever he’d been with Lori to the doctor while she was pregnant with Carl. That look never spoke of good news.   
“Not exactly. I mean, they always made sure I had the first bite of everything, but I wouldn’t call two hares a week and fallen fruit consistent eating”. Denise kept up her worried look. Trying to stay the trustworthy doctor she was supposed to be, she took another calming breath before speaking. “Hopefully your pressure will rise with the food we’ve got here, but you have to make sure you’re getting used to it carefully. A jump start with good food could be enough reason for your stomach to turn on you, and you can’t afford to start throwing up nourishment your body needs. Now, I am not in fact an actual surgeon, and I have never delivered a baby, but with Maggie’s help you’re a hundred times better off in here than out in that –“. Denise looked out the window towards the wall, unsure of how to put it. “That place” she settled on, making Charlene nod.

They went on to talking about vitamins in stock, and making up arrangements for new check-ups. Rick felt the knot in his stomach after hearing about the girl’s poor condition. It had been too much lately. This world, and every single piece of shit it had dumped upon him, he knew it had changed him. In his heart he wasn’t the same person, the small town cop who still felt uncomfortable about putting people in hand-cuffs. And to be a support to his people he could watch his friends get torn apart muscle from bone and not let it ripple his exterior. But his insides…on the inside he felt just as torn as if a herd of walkers had passed through him. That’s why he couldn’t bring himself to just leave this woman behind. He couldn’t have that on his conscience. Not another person torn apart…not a baby this time. It was heart-wrecking enough to have seen his own wife ripped open and devoured, but had it been Judith too he wouldn’t have made it out of that basement in the prison. 

-

“It doesn’t matter what you think of it, you’re simply not leaving this house”. Joan sat broad-legged on top of the kitchen table and was in the middle of sharpening her knife. “We are here for one thing only, and that’s because it’s what’s best for Charlie. We” she said, pointing the blade of the knife between the two women. “- ain’t taking stupid risks just because it’s a bigger risk being out there. Not when it’s barely been a week. Come on Tab, you’re smarter than this”. With that the conversation was over and she left Tabitha to her own frustration. Knowing there was no point in arguing further she simply left without a word. Not even stomping in the stairs to her room. She might not be more than seventeen, but Joan sure as hell wasn’t her mom and she’d stopped doing things that held no practical point.

Blowing her non-existent hair out of her face purely out of habit (since she kept her head clean-shaved nowadays), she sighed and looked around. They all still slept close together in the living room which admittedly was a change from sleeping up in different trees tied to the trunk, but felt like the safest choice before they’d gotten to know this place. But Tabitha had claimed a small room upstairs as her own, enjoying the privacy of being able to close a door behind her, a luxury she hadn’t had in months. And she was thankful for it. It was a beautiful house, so very unlike her old apartment over the garage in which she used to work with her sisters (and younger brother, but at that time he’d only been thirteen and still in training of handling the cars). A sad smile crossed her dry lips when she thought about that he would have been around 15 now. Old enough to drive. The weight of realization felt like a rock swallowed whole, but…in a way she was glad. He’d died during the first few days of it. Completely pointless, getting himself stuck behind a truck crashed into the local bar and overrun by a couple of corpses, but at least he didn’t have to see more of it. Four days of apocalypse hadn’t been enough to kill the light in his dark brown eyes, hiding behind those black tresses he called a haircut. She let a hand run over her scalp, knowing it used to look just the same. She didn’t even mind the second smile curving the edges of her lips. Joan would barely show feelings unless they were completely obscured from the view of unknown people, and Antonia was just the same, if not worse. The last mentioned had barely talked since they got here. Katja more than made up for it though, singing in her out-of-tune matters while collecting every tool and other useful things she could find in the house and made fishing hooks. One of the best things about her is how she always found a way to make something useful out of the situation, and they could hardly be mad at her for singing. She hadn’t been able to sing in any other place than inside her own head for the last five weeks. 

But no matter how much Tabitha appreciated the house, she herself was going mad not moving. She felt trapped and utter useless. There hadn’t been a single day since this whole thing started where she hadn’t been needed, either to survive herself or help others do the same, but here? Not required. Not needed.

Most of all though…she was curious. That camper, just wow, she couldn’t wait to get her hands on it and see what hid beneath the dusted hood of it, and having met only Rick, Daryl and Tara she longed to see what more people were out there. It wasn’t that Joan didn’t have a point, and she was hesitant about the whole thing. But since the last time they’d tried to stay with another group had gone to shit, the girls hadn’t really had any other human interaction that didn’t involve…killing. And just the fact that they had been given their own house, and only been disturbed to be given food or to offer Charlie a check-up in the infirmary, that was enough to start thinking about whether this was actually good people. No power games had taken place yet, no ranking had been done. They’d simply been left on their own accord, not being poked at as long as they didn’t poke anyone back.

And now? Tabitha did not feel like being shut up any longer. 

Quickly checking the door and listening for any noise indicating Joan had moved from her place on the kitchen table, she turned towards the window and looked out. Jackpot. Just outside it was a big oak tree, reaching all the way up to the second floor where she was standing. The trunk was a bit too far away, but one of the branches was thick and close enough to reach with a bit of a jump. Perfect.

Moving fast now, she pulled out her backpack from beneath the dusty bed where she kept it. From it she removed what she needed – boots, thick, cut-off leather gloves and the hooks for them. Her knives were already (as always) tucked into the holster around her hips, but she pulled out the extra smaller one and slipped it into the shaft of the right boot after stringing them up. They were steady shoes, good soles, but they were worn down for perfect mobility around the ankle. At the end of each of them was a thick spike about three inches long, made for mountain climbing originally, but when the group had found them in a scavenged store they’d quickly learned how to adapt them to own purposes. 

Next were the gloves, pulled on and fastened. Reaching to the floor, Tabitha picked up the large hooks, both double ones with enough space between them to be able to grip them, leaving the middle finger between the both hooks and the others wrapped around the short metal rod they were attached to. With all the skills combined of five girls having lived through a life fending for themselves already before everything went to hell, they’d managed to build a construction with the gloves that made it possible to fasten the hooks with buckles and some slim rope to them. This made the grasp of the hooks much easier. 

Geared up, she checked the door one last time before opening the window slowly, careful not to make any noise that Antonia could overhear from the next room. However, her efforts were fruitful and she could soon climb over the edge and hold onto the sides of it while measuring the gap with her eyes. Glancing down might have given a hitch to her breath five months ago, but she’d grown used to the feeling of hanging over a void over time. She wasn’t scared anymore. Especially not when she knew the fall would only leave her with a sprained ankle and no walkers to crawl away from. Therefore, after moving her foot around for better leverage, she simply jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like how this is developing - anything you want me to do?


	5. Don't be scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katja might just be insane for a reason

_“Don’t be scared”_

_They were holed up in a shack they’d found in the woods. Night had been falling for the last hour and it was pitch dark around them, leaving only their eyes to glimmer in the flicker of a single candle. Outside was nothing…a world turned to a graveyard, and they had just went and fallen down one of the holes dug. She knew it. This would be their grave, for the stench of death was already there.  "D_ _on’t be scared. Think of it as battle. You know what happens when people die in battle, right?”_

_Emil held her hand tightly, and the grip forced her to meet his eyes. What she met in them shocked her, if she still had the ability to be shocked. He wasn’t afraid. On his face nothing stood written but calm. He barely even seemed to notice the silent tears that slowly made their way down his cheeks stained with grime and dirt. And at that she nodded. Yes, she knew what happened to people who died in battle. They would feast forever in the halls of Valhalla. But that was just stories. Stuff her older siblings told her for bedtime when she was younger. No one ever believed they were true anymore._

_“You know Katja. I know you do. And everything” he whispered, a smile filled with every emotion that his skinny, ragged body could contain forming, just for her while the tears streamed down his face now, stronger. They could hear the noises now, outside the shack. The unmistakable sound of footsteps. “Everything is going to be just fine”. His voice broke and he squeezed her hand harder, like he was trying to press the hope into her very skin. And she saw it still. He wasn’t afraid._

_The sounds got closer, and by now they could hear the voices too, the rotten groaning and wheezing of corpses walking, searching. For them. She looked down at Emil. The cut on his leg was deep, and still oozing blood. There was no mistaking it was covering the ground outside the shack, a straight track right to their doorstep. He heard it too, looked up as he listened._

_“Quick now. You need to hide” he rushed out in a hushed whisper. Dragging himself with his limp ankle trailing behind him on the floor he ignored the fact that she was paralyzed with fear, grabbed her upper arm and pulled her by sheer force towards the wardrobe on the other side of the small room. Opening the door as quietly as he could, he pushed her inside amongst old coats and brooms on the floor. The groaning of the voices outside was accompanied now by the groaning of wood. The simple lock on the door wouldn’t hold them. Katja knew that. There was at least eight of them out there, and they wanted to open the casket this house was turned into._

_When she tried to protest at being hid away he made her go quiet again. Told her of children’s tales. About battle and heroes. Confused she looked into his pale grey eyes, alight with tears and emotion. He only spoke for a few moments, stolen time in wha_ t _little space they had left, but she was plunged back into the age of seven and could almost hear the way his voice changed and lost its depths in the memory, how he excitedly spoke to her about tales of Freja and Tor while she filled in on the parts her big sister had read from the story-book the nights before, both of them nothing but kids on her bedroom floor. Emil had always loved those tales. Now he clung to them in the last moments of time itself. Katja didn’t know if he was trying to calm her or himself, but he made her look him straight in the eye and focus on him, solely on him, as the door behind them started caving and splinters broke free._

_“Don’t be scared. Katja, don’t be scared. Rota picked me, can’t you see? She picked me. Don’t be scared. Not of this”. His last words was spoken with a smile. One last look._

_Then he pushed her head inside the closet, slammed the door shut and pulled the body of the dead man they’d found inside in front of it, barricading it._

_By the time the door broke Emil had already crawled to it. And when Katja watched through the key hole the corpses bursting through the opening, ripping open the belly of her friend, eating the scream right of his lips and devouring his intestines while his bloodied hand reached out towards her hiding place, it was no proud battle but a slaughter. And she saw it. In his grey, wide open eyes where the tears had frozen right on the raw flesh of his cheeks, she saw it._

_He died terrified._

_-_

“Katja? Everything okay?”

Katja looked up to meet the worried look of Joan standing above her. She was still on the floor with all her things strewn about her. Looking down into her lap, she reached out and picked up one of her finished fishing hooks. Holding it in between two fingers, she stretched her hand out and offered it to the older girl. Katja smiled.

-

Tabitha had just caught the branch with the hooks and swung herself upon it, quickly making her way to the trunk with feather-light steps and curling up beside it, where the branch was thick and therefore safe. That’s when she heard the footsteps. To her, they were clumsy, but the boy appearing under the tree probably thought he was being discreet.

“How’d you do that?” he called up towards her. He kept his voice neutral, but she could hear the impressed undertone. While scolding herself for not checking the ground for people before jumping, she was secretly glad her skills was impressing someone. It’d been all about surviving for so long, she’d almost forgotten the thrill of a normal conversation.

This time she checked her surroundings before making rash decisions. Empty. With all the suddenness of a cat, she dug one of the hooks to the side of the trunk, swung her leg around and kicked the tree to see her spiked boots sink into the flesh of it. With the help of a lower placed branch and one more step with the other spike piercing the trunk, she dropped to the ground and bent her knees to land gracefully, knowing how to twist to avoid injuries that would mean death hadn’t there been walls. Once down, she reached out her hand towards the boy as if he should shake it. As he stared at the hook with eyes wide open, she smiled.

“With these” she said simply. The guy must have been a few years younger than her, but tall already. Not as tall as her though. But he did have more hair, chestnut brown and grazing the top of his shoulders. His clothes were unmistakably clean, if not slightly torn, which meant he much have been here for at least a while.

“Hey that’s cool. Did you make it yourself?” “Yeah. Or well, we all did. Took us quite a few tries, but they ended up pretty good” she answered, twisting her hand to show off the construction. The tone was kept friendly and light, but the hand resting slightly above the gun holster on the boys hips told her he knew to be careful.

It didn’t stop him from being curious though. “You’re one of those girls, right? I haven’t seen you around” he said. Unbuckling and taking off her right glove, she held it in her left hand while reaching out the other one. “Tabitha. You can call me Tab”. The boy shook it, giving her a crooked smile. “And yeah, we haven’t exactly been around. I’ve only really met those two guys, one with a crossbow? Think his name’s Daryl. Then the officer, scary eyes but kinda cute?”. He gave an unexpected chuckle at her words, and responded; “Yeah, the cute officer is my dad. Rick?” She laughed along at that, nodding.

“I’m Carl by the way. I think they expected you to help out with clearing the bodies, but I get it really. I was reserved about this place too before”. When she looked confused at the mention of bodies he explained. “We had an attack of walkers here about two weeks ago, pretty ugly stuff. But we strengthened the walls since then, so you’re…” Suddenly he looked down at his shoes. A small chuckle escaped his breath, and he looked up with a remorseful expression, pained smile. “I was gonna say “you’re safe”. But I guess that’s a pretty stupid thing to say”.

Tabitha didn’t like that it had to be this way. So she did what she thought best to ease the tension and puffed his shoulder like she used to with her brother. “Was there anything more you needed help with around here? Seems to me you’ve gotten most of the bodies cleared away already”. With that he was back to normal, and smiled while pointing his thumb over his back to one of the backyards.

“I was just about to hang some laundry before you fell out of a tree and distracted me”. She gasped at his playful tone and lightly punched his shoulder. “I did not fall” she huffed and he laughed. But she followed him the short walk to the back anyway.

While she felt a bit silly hanging up laundry like it was nothing but a normal afternoon, she’d be the first to admit it felt strangely good. Like summer vacation did after a year in school.

If school had involved man eating monsters that is.

“What?” she asked when she noticed Carl glancing at her side-ways. “Nothing. It’s just you kinda look like a younger version of Michonne”. When Tabitha looked confused he explained; “Badass woman with a sword?” At the description she vaguely remembered someone standing silently in the back with blood-covered gloves and a huge sword resting on her back. Now when she gave it thought, the boy did have a point. “I noticed you people don’t seem to have any guns, or else they would have taken them. You’ve got swords too or something?” She shook her head while picking up something she realized must be an incredibly worn-out pair of boxers. Wondering who might still be hanging on to the thread-bare underwear, she answered him. “Nope, we only really use our bows and knives. Guns makes too much noise. Hook’s work too if you gotta use ‘em”. That interested the boy. The conversation went on between them as they kept up their work. She decided she liked laundry after all.

-

“Rick? I need to go on watch now, could you take Judith? Or you want me to go look for Carl?” Carol poked her head through the door of the infirmary, carrying the baby on her hip.

Rick waved her inside. “Nah, he’s got his chores. I ain’t got more to do today anyway, might as well spend time with my favorite girl” he said with a kind voice while taking her into his arms, talking more to her than to Carol. The woman just smiled at the two of them. She might be pretending to be the soft-hearted wife to everyone else, but mind her if she didn’t have a weak spot for Judith.

Before leaving she looked over at the young woman lying on Denise’s bed and gave a friendly nod towards her. She had to. It wouldn’t do letting her real emotions show through. She’d worked too hard on keeping up appearances around this place to give the game up now, and she still needed the benefits of them. Who knew when she needed the place in the shadows her played role offered? That’s why she let her head indicate friendliness towards this girl, in secret not sure she would trust her with even her frying pan. And she was positive she would’ve responded too, had her focus not been solely directed on the baby girl in Rick’s arms.

Rick realized this woman hadn’t met his own kids. He’d told them back at the woods that he had a baby that was born during the apocalypse, but to actually see said baby was another thing entirely. Like real live proof that what she was preparing for was actually possible. For the first time since the man had met her, Charlene was completely breath-taken and had her stare fixed on one thing only, instead of having all her senses on their toes and taking in every information her surroundings gave her at once.

Slowly shifting the sleepy Judith in his grasp, he looked down at his beautiful girl who’d finally begun to look a little more on the chubby side like babies should now that they could feed her without the fear of the formula running out. With her tiny thumb stuck in her mouth, she blinked tiredly and tried to look around the room, subconsciously leaning in for the protection of her daddy. Very carefully, he shifted her again and stepped in closer to the bed.

“Would you maybe like to hold her?” Charlene looked up at him wide-eyed sitting on the bed, and once again he was reminded of her too young age. She couldn’t be more than nineteen, and already having the responsibility of raising a baby and fight for her own life thrust upon her meagre shoulders. But she did nod. And Rick knew that if he couldn’t trust this stranger to hold his baby girl, then there was nothing left in this world to fight for.

“Careful now, she’s getting a bit heavy. Should be kinda sleepy now though, just make sure you keep a steady hand beneath her” he instructed while maneuvering the child into her waiting arms. For a split second Judith looked about her confused, face scrunching up like she was getting ready to cry and reach back into a more familiar grasp. But then Charlene softly bounced her little body, swinging it just barely back and forth and the baby was lulled back to sleepiness. Soon she was completely asleep, resting her head on the girl’s shoulder and the thumb back in her mouth.

Rick watched them sitting closely beside the bed, thinking she reminded him of Beth. The young farmer’s daughter had acted like a mother during the most critical period of Judith’s life, and Rick could only mourn that she wasn’t allowed to be around and watch the child grow. Neither would Lori.

He leaned forward, smiled at his daughter’s calm face. “Where’s the father of your little one?” he asked, quietly as not to wake her.

He was met with silence. His mind just had time to realize that he might have struck a nerve if the father was lost to her, but when he looked up the girl had raised her eyes from the sleeping baby and looked straight into his own.

Without a word, and with slow, seamless motions she raised her hand and took out one of the piercings she carried in her left ear, placing it in Rick’s palm.


	6. Wrath of the gods

“I’d like to talk to the young women”

Rick pushed the shovel deep into the dry earth and stood up as he heard the voice behind him. Cracking his neck, he dried off the sweat running down his forehead, feeling the sun beating down on him as he worked. He’d been up since sunrise working in the new garden they were trying to resurrect. Maggie and Tobin had joined him later, not questioning his early rise. They knew he had troubles sleeping. Especially after his talk with Charlene yesterday…

But right now his trouble was the hesitant priest walking up to stand next to him. 

“They’ve been out there a long time. I’d like to have a talk with them, perhaps see if there’s anything I can do…”  
“Haven’t you done enough?” Rick’s deep, raspy voice interrupted him. Knowing he should be the bigger man here, and probably meet Gabriel half-way, it still didn’t feel quite right trusting the man. Even though he did prove himself during the attack, swallowing what the priest had gone around telling the people here about them? That was hard. He could have ruined everything, and Rick did not give enough of a shit about God to hesitate when it came to killing priests. That would mean another life on his conscience. He’d rather not have that inside his own walls no more.

Gabriel pushed through anyway. “They’ve been here for nine days, and two of them hasn’t even left the house yet. How do we know they’re not deeply traumatized? Having to carry a baby out in the open like that…do you not think it’s a good idea that they started socializing?” The sweaty man glared at him while pulling up his shovel from the ground.   
“But this isn’t about socializing, ain’t that right? This’ about you talking to them about your God, trying to give them comfort that ain’t there” he told him, forcefully digging up more dirt and throwing it to the side, giving him another look as he did so, making the priest’s worried face deepen its frown. When Gabriel tried to take a step forward to place a hand on Rick’s shoulder, he widened his stance which caused the other man to reconsider, retracting his hand. 

“I know you have no faith Rick. But that doesn’t mean other people don’t. I would only ask of you to be a little more open-minded about these girls, and give them a chance to find some solace in believing. Only talk. It would make me feel better if I was allowed to try” he pleaded. In the end Rick just sighed and silently agreed by nodding. He had more important things to worry about. Let the priest have his talk.

-

Thump.

Katjas gave a toothy grin as the fat crow hit the ground, arrow sticking out of its chest. Its wings occasionally twitched as she made her way to it and plopped down on the ground to take the whole thing into her lap. She made quick work to snap the neck of it and pulled the out the arrow, next came stripping the dead animal off its sleek, black feathers.

She was happy to be out, if only in her back yard, but it was better than being inside really. After a while Joan had gone upstairs to see if Andy and Tab was hungry, only to discover Tab being gone and the window opened. It had been amusing to watch Joan drag Antonia out of her room and tell her to stick together with the youngest of them, even though Katja felt like at least Joan’s age by now. The apocalypse had a tendency to make it feel like she was aging thrice as quickly (not that Joan was any older than twenty-three when they’d stopped counting). Anyway Joan had returned eventually with Tabitha walking behind her, keeping her steps sure and confident even though she knew the other was upset with her – but Katja knew Tab had walked to the house voluntarily. Joan might be the oldest, and the one they put their trust in, but she held no power over any of them. Neither did they over her. But unfortunately there was a much more complicated game behind it. For example, had Tab decided not to come back with Joan, they would have blown their cover for the boy she’d been with (of which Tab had told her about a while after she’d come back) and he would have seen it as a group without any leadership or unity. Now, only because they didn’t have a clear leader, didn’t mean they didn’t have leadership. But beyond doubt, sticking together was a better option than acting vulnerable. They weren’t. In any case both she and Tabitha had started going out after that. Tab because that boy had work for her to do, and Katja to explore the trees and sky of their very own garden. 

Shaking her head to focus on what she had at hand, she perched her ears instead to listen around her as she wasn’t currently watching. But she’d just begun her work when she was interrupted by the shadow of a man falling over her. Annoyed she peered up at what was blocking the sun and in extension, the thing that allowed her to see what her fingers was up to. 

“Good afternoon child. I’m Gabriel” the man spoke, reaching out a hand towards her while bending slightly. She sat cross-legged and stared at it. Slowly, she put down the handful of feathers she held in her right hand and let him take it. “Katja” she told the man, knowing the accent was there but without any interest of what he might make of it. He had a black suit and no hair, like Tab, only he had none of her confident stare. No weapon, no heavy boots that could stomp. So he did not interest her much, and she returned to pulling off feathers. She was going to take this crow back to the house, and Andy was going to help her cook it, and they would make a great stew. 

“Are you planning on cooking it?” the man said, trying to make conversation. Katja was annoyed. She had just made out the whole plan in her head, was she expected to tell it out loud at once? A simple nod would have to do. 

Apparently it wasn’t enough for the worried man.

“I came here because I wanted to talk to you, and your friends for that matter. Mind if I sit?” he asked. When no other reply than a glance cast his way came, he sat down anyway. “I’m a priest, you see. I used to have my own church, but unfortunately…I had to leave it behind”. He looked at the ground, sad, as he said this. Katja went on with her feathers, absentmindedly taking a few to start braiding them into the curly mess of her hair. “But since you people are new to this place, and so young too, I felt I needed to take it upon myself to see how you were doing. I know myself how traumatizing the world out there can be. But I am blessed to have walked through these trials that has been testing us of lately with the faith of God. And I do not want to give up my calling just because civilized world ended. I intend to keep holding services, and I know there are several people in here that appreciate the comfort of praying together with others. Perhaps you would be interested in coming too?”

“I don’t need your god” she hissed. The outburst took Gabriel off guard, and he jumped slightly while meeting her sudden icy stare. 

Composing himself, he hesitated a second before trying again. “Would…you maybe care to tell me where you’re from? I’ve heard from Daryl that the others believe you’re from Scandinavia. Is that true?” 

She glared. It couldn’t help but bother Gabriel a little that she didn’t seem to care that her jerky movements smeared blood into the tangled attempts to braid her hair. He sat there watching her in pressured silence. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to answer, she spoke up, accent thick and strange. “It is true that I am not from here” she quietly said, looking around with a flicker of disgust in her eyes. 

Something was very off in the way she spoke. Almost like she didn’t belong in present time. But Gabriel wanted to help this girl, he wanted to help every child he could now that he…failed the ones he should have saved in the beginning. With a shake of his head he tried to clear it of those evil thoughts, things he could not change. He needed to focus on the ones he could.

“I understand you must miss home very much”. Silence again. “Don’t you…have the faith of God there?” he asked slowly, not sure how to pose the question.  
“No”  
“But surely, in Scandinavia you are Protestants, right? It is Christian countries?”  
“Forced upon us” she hissed, venom in her voice. Gabriel did not understand. From what he knew, Scandinavia had been Christian for at least a thousand years. She couldn’t mean she didn’t see it as her own religion? Now, Gabriel had tolerance for people of different faith, since he still believed all human beings should be accepted and might only be judged by God himself, but this girl…she seemed to view the love of God as a threat.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Are you saying you have no faith? Because I myself has doubted, the Lord knows I have, but he has always given me a reason to come back to him”  
“I have never doubted, priest”. The title was spat out. “I am not Christian. Not a child of your god, and I don’t want to talk of things that doesn’t exists”. Katja was getting angry and jerked a whole handful of feathers off the almost naked bird. This man upset her. She didn’t like him.

“But if God does not exist…where is your god, child? Tell me so I can understand”

Suddenly she tossed the bird aside with quick movements, angrily staring at this stupid stupid man. She dug both her hands into the earth, and reached forward to offer him a handful of dirt. “This! This is my god. In earth is life, and in sky…” she said, dropping the dirt and reaching her hands towards heaven. “Is also life. Rain, sun and snow, all is part of life and death and re-birth of life. Where I come from it used to go by different names before your god” she spat, venomously. “…ruined that. We knew to thank earth, rain and sun, and not play pretend at an almighty Lord” Now she was upset for real. The tears was burning behind her eyelids, and she’d forgotten all about the bird. In her head she heard Emil’s voice, and she repeated his words when it was all she could do not to collapse in on herself. But his words was important. He was important. “No praying will help you against earth itself, don’t you see that priest? Don’t you see? We can do nothing!” 

“What’s going on?” 

Suddenly Joan was hurrying towards them, strides long and determined. The look on her face was worried but adamant, and anyone who wasn’t a corpse would have quivered beneath her harsh stare. Gabriel sure did.

“I-I didn’t mean no harm, I was just trying to talk to your friend about the services I’m going to hold. I was welcoming her”  
Joan took one look at Katja, knowing her all too well to see. “No, you’re upsetting her”.  
“I didn’t mean…”  
“It doesn’t matter what you meant. I don’t want you talking to her” she said, leaving no room for argument. When she reached her hand out for Katja, the younger girl took it. “Come on, we’re going inside”  
“I’m sorry if I did something wrong!” the priest called after them, but she ignored him. She was fuming.

Once inside, she wasted no time getting to the couch. Falling into old habits now that they were out of sight, she lifted up the girl who instantly wrapped her legs around Joan’s waist and sat them both down on the cushion, soothing her shaking limbs by stroking her ruffled hair softly.

“It’s okay baby girl. Just breathe”. Katja was so small in her arms. Her body was too skinny, bones jutting out and if she tried, she could probably count every single vertebra in her spine. Joan hated that it had to be that way. “It’s okay. You’re safe here” she murmured into her hair. This was something they’d done many times before. Katja was such a strong girl, but she was so young. So small. And Joan had to protect her. She would do anything. 

-

Joan sat on top of the back of the couch once again twirling her knife through calloused, long fingers. After carefully tucking the exhausted girl into the couch wrapped in a blanket, there had been a knock on the door. To her and the other women’s surprise Rick and the Asian called Glenn had been standing outside, holding their arrows out like a peace offering. 

It had taken them about half an hour of quiet conversation in the kitchen, Joan’s hard stare reminding them of being mindful not to wake the sleeping one up, for the men to repeat what had been discussed at a meeting that had taken place this morning and to lay down the ground rules. They would start by helping out strengthening the walls, all but Charlene who was put on cooking duty along with Carol (which made the pregnant woman huff and cross her arms across her chest, already sick of being treated with kid’s gloves). When it came to their weapons, there had been some split opinions about that (mainly Sasha and Abe complaining like before). But since it seemed no bigger group was following the five, and none of them had tried to get out to signal any, they were allowed to carry their arms within the walls now. Or at least have them in their home since there weren’t much reason to walk around with them, despite what Joan thought of it. During the conversation it also crept forward that there had been guards placed out during the past week around their house to see if they tried climbing the walls or anything.

Idiots. Inside, Joan smiled a tight, crooked smile. They thought we didn’t know.

Anyway, their chores would start tomorrow, so they were left to their own accord for the evening. Antonia, Charlie and Tabitha were all inside the living room playing cards, instinctively keeping their cheers down to a minimum as not to attract unwanted attention. Guess there wasn’t much need of that anymore. Joan looked down at her hands, above Katja on the couch while she slept on. Poor thing had barely slept at all for a week, staying up every night sitting on the window still keeping watch. 

They were all calm, gathered. But Joan felt the uneasiness building up inside of here. Same as Tab had explained once she’d gotten back from her little escape, she felt trapped. Like her hands had been keeping a choke hold on a steel throat for months, and now that they could let go they wouldn’t relax from the tense crooked hold. 

After unbraiding her now long, brown hair and re-doing it, inwardly sighing as she realized the last nine inches of it where still bleached, she decided she didn’t want to stay indoors anymore. 

“I’m going out” she told the others. After making her lift up the edge of her shirt and the cuff of her pant leg, showing her three neatly placed knives, they let her go.

The night was almost cold when she stepped out into it. It was a welcomed change from the heat of the day, and while lifting her face towards the sky turning black, letting the breeze brush against the shaved sides of her head, she realized how much she had disliked being shut up like that. It reminded her too much of before things went bad. The weeks where she didn’t step outside of the apartment once, either not being allowed or not being able.

She shook, despite her hooded, warm shirt. It was one of the single things left from her life before, and the faded logo on the back still clung to the fabric like it was fighting its own extinction. Much like they all were. It had lost all its original smell, now carrying the faint stench of sweat and gore no matter how much she scrubbed it clean, be it river water or the good water here. Not that it mattered. Everything stank nowadays. 

After walking around a little, watching the white, neat houses with their picked fences and actual flowers growing in the gardens, she got sick of that too. This wouldn’t help her sleep at all. Right now her choices stood between the claustrophobic feeling of her house, and watching the absurd state of others. How could this place even exist? While she and her friends had taught themselves to climb trees and sleep tied to a trunk, no shelter from cold or rain, these people had been growing flowers. While she had watched the people closest to her being ripped to pieces while she herself hid in the mud of a riverbank hoping they wouldn’t find her too, these people had been playing games in their living rooms. While Charlene chugged down dirty pond water mixed out with roots they’d dug from the ground, warmed over a camp fire, as the only way to feed her child, these people baked cookies in ovens. Yeah. She’d seen them in the baskets of food left on their door step. Scowling to herself she slowed her step and brought her hands up behind her head, looking up into the dark sky both pissed off and in despair. She didn’t know what to do. The world out there? She could handle it. Survive. She could do that.

But this? Too much. Too fast.

Suddenly she knew where she was going. And when she a few minutes later knocked on the door she was looking for, she could admit she was relieved when it opened, even if it was a hesitant gap that formed. 

“Daryl”

She breathed out the word, not sure how he would take her coming here. But the man in the doorway took one look at her, hesitated another second, then let her in.

The basement looked the same as it had the other week. Half-empty shelves, half-finished bolts on the working bench, and under it – the same heap of blankets and pillows, only now a bit more ruffled than before. The inhabitant of the room looked different though, even if it wasn’t by much. She noticed the faint bags under his weary eyes, the haggard look on his tired face while he stalked backwards as not to let her get too close. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether she was going to sit down or attack him. Joan understood him. It wasn’t the most calming behavior to knock on someone’s door way past bedtime. Or perhaps it would have been past bedtime, had time still been a thing they relied on. 

“I’m sorry for…disturbing you” she said, slowly as if trying to calm a panicked animal. He grunted in response, finally deciding she wasn’t a threat and sitting down on top of the working bench seeing there were no chairs. “S’okay” he muttered. Once again her eyes were drawn to the nest beneath the bench. She wondered if she’d woken him. She knew he slept here, had known since she first saw the blankets. That’s why she also knew where to look for him. Right now he seemed like the only one inside these walls that still had his head outside of them.

“What d’you want?” Daryl asked, interrupting her thoughts. She drew a breath, furrowing her brows.  
“Actually…I’m not sure. This” she said, raising her arms to indicate the room around here, but he understood she meant the entire place. “…is just a bit too much, you know? I’m not sure I like it as much as I should”. The hunter said nothing at that. He wasn’t much of a talker; especially not when he didn’t know the person he was supposed to be talking to.

But he did nod.   
“They expect us to help out here, and all of us want to do that – if we’re staying, we’re not about to do it without earning our keep. And” she said, exhaling. “We really do need to stay. Charlie ain’t gonna make it out there, we’re all aware of that”. She voiced the obvious. 

“What’s your job here exactly? Are you a scavenger? I’m thinking you weren’t out in the woods looking for us”  
Daryl huffed, changing his position. “My job? Keeping people alive, that’s ma job ‘round here. But if what you’re asking is if I’m one of them who goes outside then, yeah, I am. I hunt and go on runs. Why d’you ask?” he says, adding the last thing with a frown. He didn’t mind her being there, surprisingly as it was, but he disliked that he couldn’t figure out her intentions. 

“Could you bring me out there?” she asked bluntly. Daryl was taken aback by her straight-forwardness, not knowing what to respond. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But I can hunt. I can work my bow just as good as you work yours, and I’m silent enough to fool you I ain’t even there”. Daryl grimaced at the memory of how he’d stupidly had told Rick there wasn’t anyone in the camp when they’d first found the girls. She had a point, he had to admit. But how was he ever going to get the others on board with this? And did he really want someone he didn’t even know to tag along into the woods with a loaded weapon?

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea”. The respond was expected.   
“Then could I go out on my own?”   
“That’s an ever stupider idea. You and your people are still on trial here, we can’t have you runnin’ around signaling who knows who” he grunted, and she rolled her eyes.   
“We don’t have no one else but ourselves. You know that as well as I do. You people really think we’d be dragging around a pregnant woman if we had a place to be? A bigger group to protect her?” Daryl didn’t even have to answer that. 

Suddenly her features softened a bit. For a split second she almost looked…lost. “Look I…I can’t stay in here. It’s driving me up the walls just being stuck here. I’m not asking for much, just a couple of hours. That’s enough to track us some rabbits, and I’ll return and work on the walls the rest of the day. Consider it at least? I won’t beg but…I’d really appreciate it”

Time stood still for a moment. The light swinging of Daryl’s leg stopped while he was thinking it through, and the night outside was silent with the absence of cars. In the end he met her gaze, looked down for a second, and nodded.

“I’ll see what I can do”


	7. Outside the walls

There was a wind blowing that day, not strong but it brought an unexpected chill to the bone. Winter in Georgia hardly ever grew really cold, not to a point where a thick jacket wouldn’t stop it. Sometimes there were snow and traffic stopped, and everyone would put on a pair of boots and be done with it. But things were different when you were thinned out from lack of food. And with the wind picking up…Joan felt a hollow happiness over at not being stuck in a tree anymore, despite her reservations about the new place.

She stalked behind Daryl on the deserted road. Some garbage was dragged across the pavement by said wind while they checked a corner before rounding it, both ears perched to listen for any sounds danger, any living thing close to them, or…any not so living thing. 

It had taken a while to get Rick and the others to agree to this. Rick himself had been pissy about the whole thing, especially since he’d found out from Carl that he’d been sharing his laundry-duty with Tabitha without no one even knowing. Which was a bit strange seeing he’d given them their weapons back very soon after that. All the girls had started working with their given chores the next day (and boy, Joan did not appreciate Eugene asking if Katja’s “seemingly mental instability affected what they would physically demand of her here and her ability to comprehend and perform the task”. She’d looked about ready to punch his jaw in hadn’t Tabitha cut in and assured him there wasn’t going to be any problem. And as it turned out, Katja out-bested all of them with her way of climbing and secure things no one had been able to before the new group showed up), and Daryl had chosen to wait until that day’s work was over before talking to the others. He’d figured it was best to show them Joan would pull her weight, that she was honoring the agreement and willing to work with them, instead of rushing head first into her own wants and needs. The nod of Joan’s head when he told her to wait a day had been enough of an agreement between them. The simplified communication they had came as a sort of relief to the gruff hunter. It felt a little like familiar ground after months of stumbling around in the unknown territory that was conversing with people like Beth and Tara (even though he did found it kind of amusing listening to Tara’s weird ramblings sometimes, but he’d never admit to it).

Undoubtedly his patience had helped his cause, but there was still opposition against it. Daryl preferred not to think about Maggie’s words (“The guy almost got himself killed by a freaking horse and a doll, why should we send him out there with an armed stranger?”), even if he knew they sprung from her worry about his safety. They all, it seemed, worried about his safety. But he’d talked them into it.

And now they were in an empty, run-down town looking for canned beans. Honestly Daryl did not see the great point in all the fuss Joan made about this.

“Le’s go in here” he mumbled after scanning the street for potential dead guys. The glass-door of the store rattled as he knocked the end of his cross-bow against it. Holding the back of his hand up to signal for her to wait, he peered inside the muddied surface while he heard the distinct sound of a bow-string being pulled tight behind him. There was stirring inside. Counting brought him up to a total of three walkers, nothing they couldn’t handle. Before opening the door, he threw a glance back at the other while letting his hand drop forward to show her they were going in. Her weapon was drawn, poised and ready.

Two bolts and a knife shoved through the rotten base of a skull later they were standing inside an old food store, breathing slightly heavier from exertion and both bows re-loaded and ready once again, Daryl knowing that the itch inside his trigger finger was inside the two fingers Joan used to hold up her arrow as well. He felt the tension coming off her body in waves, sensed it like he could sense the fright in a deer when he came close during a hunt. Only she wasn’t afraid. Just ready. She would handle anything that came through the back of that store.

But they were lucky, and nothing more came. They got their bags out and started scavenging through the shelves, moving along them and shoving down all the canned goods they could find. Beans, peas, onions. Every package of pads and tampons he could find on the feminine hygiene section. Glenn still blushed every time he had to look for hygiene products for the girls, even though he should have been the one used to it by now. Daryl had fussed about it at first, hearing Merle’s voice in the back of his head telling him a Dixon weren’t no errand boy scouting for tampons for bitches. But he’d told that voice to go fuck itself. He wasn’t being an errand boy. He helping his fucking family, that’s what he was doing. 

“Hey. Jackpot”. Joan tossed a bottle at Daryl. He caught it mid-air, reading the label and snorted out a laugh.   
“I didn’t peg you for a drinker” he said, tossing the bottle back. She caught it easily, stuffing it into her backpack.  
“Only vodka really. And German beer”  
“That’s not very American of you” he responded while grabbing a dented can of peaches. Their voices carrying through the empty building sounded very out of place, especially with the rotting corpses lying around. “And that’s a bad thing?” she asked, tiny hint of amusement in her tone.

Daryl noticed the change in Joan since they’d gotten outside of the walls. It wasn’t exactly like she was smiling or anything, but she was in a strange way more relaxed out here in the literal death-trap then she’d been before where they had shelter. The hunter remembered the way he himself had stayed on the porch when he and his group first had gotten into Alexandria, working with his bolts and glaring at everyone that came within twenty yards of him (including Carl, which he actually did regret. The kid didn’t deserve the cold shoulder like that). Point was he’d felt utterly trapped in the house, so very unlike the shack he used to live in with his Pa. Strange haircut and piercings aside, he could recognize himself in the very way Joan moved. Deliberate and with a sort of broad stance that still remained fluent, like she was a caged animal prepared to either hold her ground or run off at any given moment. Daryl suspected there was more to her than she gave away. Not that she gave away much at all, if anything. But the things she did share…oddly enough that interested Daryl.

“So how come y’all have the same weapon? Ain’t like five girls with bow skills jus’ happens to form a group really” he asked, rummaging through behind the cashier looking for a pack of smokes. He was running low.  
“We learned. We had a few guns from the start but most of them got stolen. The last handgun left run out of ammo months ago, and Andy buried in some skull a while back. No need for ‘em anyway. Too damn loud if you ask me”. Daryl glanced at her, furrowing his brow.  
“Andy?” he wondered, earning himself a look from where she was bent over some mostly empty shelves. He shrugged. “I ain’t good with names”  
“Antonia. The one with the hood. She’s got the same haircut as me, only she’s blonde”. Joan looked up hastily again. “She doesn’t talk much”

Mentally he went through his memory, recalling the exact situation of their ride back to Alexandria when he and Rick brought them in, only remembering it so clearly seeing he’d been tense as a bowstring the entire time. He knew the pregnant, dark one was Charlene, the crazy white one Katja. Carl had told her the one with the shaved head that looked a bit like Michonne was called Tabitha, so the last one must have been…Antonia. As he thought about it, he realized he’d never actually seen her face for real. Situated in the far corner, pressed up against it much like Daryl himself had been once Katja pounced on him, the shadow of the hood had covered most of her features. Of course the arrangement Rick and Glenn had gotten their agreement on a couple of days ago required she was out and working on the wall, but even there she’d kept her hood up. The thing was dark brown, belonging to some old hoodie with cut off sleeves, and she’d worn an oversized shirt beneath it which left only her hands exposed. She hadn’t said a word all day. 

“I don’t think we’ll find something else worthwhile here” Joan said interrupting his thoughts. Standing up from her crouching at a shelf, it took her one fluid motion to fling her bag upon her back, adjusting the straps.   
“Yeah” he agreed. The store was picked as clean from what little was left in it when the two of them walked out the door. A couple of walkers dragged their feet while slowly coming towards them from across the street. One of them was old, grey hair still in some sort of messy hair-due and flowery blouse clinging to the half-decayed flesh of her shoulders. Daryl couldn’t help but think that if the world had just waited another year before going to shit, that woman might not have gotten that ending. She could have been buried by now, in a graveyard where she belonged. 

It was Joan who once again turned his attention from his mind.  
“That’s an apartment-building right there. I’d say it’s worth looking into. Might be something left”. The hunter followed her pointed finger to a building down the street. He nodded, and they stalked on after killing of a walker each, leaving the woman still un-buried. 

Daryl cast side-way glances at the young woman at his side, trying to figure her out. She couldn’t be more than 26, tops. Probably younger. What had she been doing before all this? He knew a lot of the piercings was done after, but the way she wore them? Either she’d gotten very comfortable with her new style, or that was a woman used to her looks. And if she’d looked like that before the shit-storm, that thinned out the possibilities of what she’d been up to. It took him about half the distance between the store and the apartment-building to figure out the easiest way to find out was asking. 

“That’s a pretty weird hair-cut”. It came out blunt. He considered if he should have tried to put it better, but thought she probably didn’t care anyway. Turned out she didn’t.  
“I guess so. It’s not much of a hair-cut anymore I suppose. I just try to keep it out of the way” she answered, scanning the street.  
“What’s with the shaved sides?” he asked. To his surprise (none of which showed in his features) she smiled.  
“You haven’t figured it out yet?” came the response, along with an amused glance. That glance was rewarded with his furrowed brows.   
“What the hell you on about now?” he grumbled, and she snorted. They’d finally reached the building, the door slightly off its hinges and covered in the gore of a dead walker lying completely ripped to shreds beside it. Going ahead this time she banged the butt of her knife hard against the frame of the disgusting door, waiting for the possible inmates of the building to show themselves. They preferred not being surprised in the dark, considering the hallway behind said door was completely un-illuminated and they’d run out of batteries for the flashlights in the car (which was another thing they needed to look for).   
“You wouldn’t believe me anyway” 

With that puzzling and according to Daryl absolutely worthless answer, they hoisted their bows and went in. No walkers. The first apartment smelled so badly through the thin door they didn’t even bother going inside – they went straight to the second one, Daryl putting his ear to it to listen for any kind of noise. Same thing, no walkers. 

At least no walking walker. When they opened the door half a body fell out and splattered their shoes with viscera and blood. And it really was half a body. For some reason, someone had chopped up a dead guy and left his naked bottom half leaning up against the door, the pale legs slowly turning into a gooey puddle of flesh and fat. Daryl pointed at it with his crossbow.

“That looks pretty damn normal t’ me, and you’re worried I won’t believe why your hair looks like it does? Ya kiddin’ me, aren’t ya?” he said, giving her a look before taking a long step and passing over the corpse. With a shrug Joan followed.  
“I was a punk-rocker” she said, matter-of-factly.

She’d walked all the way past Daryl and through the hallway towards the kitchen before she turned back and realized he was still stuck in the doorway staring at her. Not with his mouth hanging open in surprise like in the movies, no, the hunter was way too proud for that, but at least he had a nice furrow to his brow again and his eyes filled with disbelief and confusion. To clear things out, she pointed to her head and flicked the tail of the braid over her shoulder. Only now did he notice it was slightly bleached. “It used to be a mohawk” she explained. “A green one” she continued, already halfway into the kitchen. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Daryl’s voice followed her through the apartment, muffled before he quickened his steps and caught up with her. His face was almost comical, and she found it sort of amusing. Apparently that hadn’t been his first guess. “You mean like Sex Pistols? Dead Kennedys and all that crap?”  
“Crap?” she asked, throwing a can of beans at him. He easily caught it, knowing she’d known he would.   
“Pretty sure it was mostly crap, ye”. This time an empty milk-carton went flying towards his head, and he ducked, smile almost breaking his stony demeanor.   
“And what kind of cool life-style did you have before all this? A biker with angel-wings?” she mocked, actually not offending him in the least. He was just about to respond when they heard a heavy thump.

Both froze, Joan with her arms elbow-deep in the refrigerator. Thump. Two more, slow session. Thump. Again.

Daryl quickly and deadly quiet shrugged off his backpack, hoisting up the crossbow on his arm ready to shoot. Slowly, foot by foot, he turned back into the hallway, trying to locate the noise. Thump.

It took Joan another second, and Daryl disappearing out of her line of view, to realize that the noise coming in a steady session now was the sound of heavy footfalls against the floor. They weren’t alone.


	8. Attacked

Thirty seconds passed. Forty. Joan had an arrow drawn and her back against the kitchen wall, ready for whatever would come through the doorway. And when she heard footsteps in the hallway, she knew right away they weren’t Daryl’s. 

Heavy, way too heavy to be going for discretion, they neared the kitchen and a certain death if they didn’t behave the way Joan wanted them to. Just before they were about to enter, they hesitated for a second. Joan’s ears spiked. There was only one close to her, and she couldn’t hear any noise indicating where Daryl had gone. 

Suddenly a body appeared in the opening.

“Don’t shoot!” The man held up his hands, showing he was unarmed. Quickly scanning him she noticed he was big with squared shoulders and thick thighs, shaggy brown hair kept short and combat boots matching his dark green army pants. Stolen, or he used to be military. What’s worse? 

“Give me a reason not to” she spat out, teeth clenched and face a stone mask. She didn’t want to kill him. She didn’t like violence. But there was no point denying she would do just about anything in self-defense.

The man chuckled. “Ain’t got any”. Then he drew his gun and fired.

Joan was fast. The bullet hit the wall behind her as she threw herself to her right, but the fall would cost her the grip on her bow. It dropped to her side, and she had just enough time to get up on her elbow before the man was right in front of her. With her heart pounding its way out of her chest, she saw the gun being pointed to her temple, and with a precise kick it too went flying to the side. The man grunted at the pain in his wrist. “Bitch” he muttered, but apparently he had no other gun to draw. Joan on the other hand had her knife, which she was just on her way to pull out of its sheath while her body was getting ready to coil like an animal preparing for a pounce.

But she had a disadvantage. While not being very big to begin with, the constant lack of food had thinned her out, and this man weighed a lot more than her. When he with a grumble threw himself on top of her, that weight pushed her down instantly. She felt his hand grip hers, the one holding the knife, and crushed it. The sharp blade dug into her little finger and the pain was dulled by adrenaline. But nothing stopped the pain when two other fingers cracked and broke. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood, not giving the man the satisfaction of hearing her scream. 

He pulled the knife out of her limp grip. When he shifted his body her legs were pressed down and made useless. Suddenly she felt his hot breath against her ear. It reeked of teeth not being washed in a year or so. “Bitch” he muttered, again. “What you gon’ do now, huh? What’s your plan?” He twisted so he got a grip around her wrist and pulled her arm upwards, so she wouldn’t sneak up on him and punch him in the gut. His chuckle felt too loud so close to her ear when she let out a grunt of discomfort. “You know what? I think I like you better this way than dead” he told her. White-hot rage flashed through her when the pressure eased off she he could get a hand between the two of them and push it against her ass. “Tell you what; if you’re a good girl and don’t scream, maybe I won’t even kill you after all. Ain’t that real friendly of me?” Another chuckle washed over her skin when he squeezed a handful of her, so hard it hurt. “Yeah” he mumbled, to himself. “You’ll do”

And that was his mistake. Had he just focused on violating her with sheer force, maybe he would’ve been in such an advantage-point that he could have succeeded. But no; like most low-life scumbags he just had to run his mouth and have his little fun with it too. He didn’t just want to hurt her, no, he wanted to play with her too. That was stupid of him. Joan could take a beating by now. What she couldn’t take was games. So he’d just gone and done the one thing that was about as lethal for him as a walker stumbling inside the kitchen; pissing her off. 

It also meant he unconsciously let his guard down a bit. Somewhere his brain probably reasoned that since he’d asked her not to fight back with the promise of keeping her life, she would listen and stay still as he focused on getting his pants open. But the moment his left hand went from her ass to his own fly, the one with the grip around her wrist relaxed momentarily. That was enough.

With adrenaline pumping through her like flames in her veins, she took advantage of the fact that he had to rise himself up a bit to undo his army pants and got out the hand that was stuck beneath her. Before he could react and close the grip he still kept, she ripped her hand from his hold so he couldn’t use her injury for leverage, and quick as a snake biting she reached back and found his ear. One of the most sensitive spots on the human body, and she knew it. Just when he caught up with her movements and once again pushed her down against the floor, she had already pressed her his index finger into the small channel. It took only a second for him to howl in agony.

When he recoiled and tried to get away from the pain, she shifted along with him and managed to throw him on his side and freeing herself off his weight. Now the disadvantage point was lost to him – and when he tried to lunge out and hit her head, she curled her body away from it. The blow struck her upper arm. Not that it didn’t hurt, but it hit flesh and fat instead of the sensitive skin and bone on her skull and she wasn’t more than bruised. And he’d done yet another mistake. While Joan was curled up like a bullet, he’d just gone and flailed his arm out totally exposed for her. Before he could even understand it, she used it against him. 

“Bitch!” he screamed, and she silently cursed him for probably attracting walkers. Not to mention that his vocabulary was boring her. But she had grabbed his wrist and put all her force into punching down on his elbow, hearing a satisfying crack when her fist landed, so she couldn’t blame him for screaming. 

While he shriveled in on himself, cradling his arm, she stood up. With her combat boots, broad stance and a look in her eyes that could’ve turned anyone to stone, it didn’t matter for shit if she was more than one head shorter than him. Her presence filled the entire room. “I’ll do?” she asked, reminding him of his words. “For what?” A hard kick to his kneecap made him howl again. “For rape?” Another kick, a stomping on top of his ribs. “That’s what I’m good enough for?” He only grunted when she kicked his injured arm, throat losing its voice. He tried to let out a crooked, pathetic; “No”.

When she spoke again, her mouth was honeyed venom. “But that’s what you said. You said that I’ll do. But you wanna know something?” she asked him, lowering herself to her knees. She found her knife, and gripped it with her good hand while she used her elbow to push him onto his back, keeping her lower arm pressed to his jugular. He wheezed out his breath. She leant in close. “It doesn’t matter if you think I’m good enough, or if you think I’m not worth your time. I wasn’t meant for you in the first place”. With that she slit his throat. The blood was steaming warm when it gushed over her, and did nothing to cool her down. 

She didn’t stay long enough to watch him die. With her knife in hand, she left everything else behind and stalked out of the room, chest heaving with anger and blood dripping from her face. It took fifteen seconds for her long strides to reach the noise she’d heard as soon as her fight in the kitchen had stopped, and her heavy boots left bloodied footprints all over the hallway until she saw Daryl.

In the far corner was a man shot to death by one of his bolts, and he was currently wrestling another man with the same army pants as the others. Daryl was losing. He was pressed up against the wall and struggled to keep out of the way of a knife. His own lay forgotten on the floor next to Joan. Daryl saw her coming, but the chokehold the guy kept on him cut off his voice when he tried to call out. Didn’t matter. The other guy turned around at the sound of her boots coming up behind him. Didn’t matter either. His veins emptied just as quickly as the last one when she carved his face open. His blood was just as warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I continue on this story? I'm not sure


	9. Aftermath

The needle went through the skin of her eyebrow, and out on the other side. A small drop of blood formed and stained Joan’s hand as she clasped the safety pin shut, adding one more piercing to the collection. Having made quick work of it, she absentmindedly sucked the blood away from her finger while Daryl sat on the other side of the table and observed her from beneath the tresses falling in front of his eyes. It made no difference that she knew he was watching her – the procedure was impersonal, a simple task to be carried out. 

After making sure the three men weren’t going to come back and haunt them, they had left that apartment and went into a second one in search for new clothes. Now, an old flannel kept Joan warm as she sat with her legs crossed and started sorting out the things they’d found so far. In the last apartment there was a few dunks of water, one of which they’d used to clean themselves up. Daryl had tried but failed to be just a little surprised at the way Joan carried herself with her face splattered with blood. Nothing seemed to move this girl. Her face was a stone façade with only apathy to show. 

But no…Daryl had seen her in the height of emotion. Had seen her eyes reduced to black pits of hellfire, and the muscles of her arms bend and conform around the motion when she went from self-defense to brutalized murder. It had almost obliterated his doubts about her – it seemed no wonder why she was still alive.

But for all force she had put behind the killing blow, there was another side of it. The little safety pin stood for every last ounce of sanity left in her body, the morality she and everyone around her tried to cling to. Humanity. It was amazing how such a small item could mean so much. She wasn’t forgetting the one’s she’d killed. Forgiveness was not allowed. 

“He deserved it”. The sentence was spoken with a voice low and hardened, the way he could not help but speak in nowadays. She didn’t even look up.  
“I know” she said, simple. Like there was no discussion to be had. But the red droplets above her eye spoke differently. Normally he wouldn’t care. Normally he’d be keeping his distance and be happy with it, but this he wanted to understand. There was still a rotting hole inside his mind that made him uncertain that he and his group even now were…entirely human. Joan made him hopeful. It was just a tiny glimmer of it, but hope nevertheless. But first he needed to know – why torture herself with guilt for a monster like that guy?

“Then why do you do it?” he asked. She put the new batteries they found inside a small pocket in her backpack, and still kept her eyes busy on the performed task.  
“Because I have to remember. WE have to remember” she said. Now she finally met his eyes. “If I made a piercing every time I killed a corpse my body would be ruined with it. But living people only earned themselves thirteen of these” she told him, gesturing to her metal-covered ear. “I’d like to believe they are different. Worth remembering. And if the number crosses more than my body can handle, then my mind can’t handle it either”.

He kept her stare. Then, after a long consideration, he nodded. Yeah. He understood.

“Do you think there’s any German beer?” she said, and with that the mood turned lighter. Daryl almost chuckled at the bizarre change of topic, but gestured with his head towards the living room.  
“I think there might be something in that cabin over there”. Getting a confirmative nod, Joan got up and checked it out.   
“Another jackpot!” came from the other room. Now Daryl couldn’t help but smile at that. He was taking to like this one. 

“So” she said, plopping down on the chair again holding two bottles. “Altogether we have a bottle of vodka and two beers. I don’t know about you but that’s enough for a night out cracking skulls”. When he just stared back she straight-out smiled. “I’m used to punk shows. Can get pretty crazy” she said, winking.   
“Yeah I figured, wild cat. Besides, that ain’t nearly enough for ‘cracking skulls’. That ain’t even enough to crack my skull” he responded and crossed his arms. Raising her eyebrows, she looked at the two bottles and waved one at him.  
“Really? Like you could handle half a bottle of Absolut and a beer. Did you miss the part where we’ve been starving for two years?”  
“Nah, it’s not me being a skinny ass. That’s all on you wild cat” he mused. She faked a gasp (and he was inwardly amazed at how early they had started to let down their guard around each other).  
“Hey. I do have a standing record on five beers and a shot” she told him, waving her bottle. Oh Daryl wanted to laugh, he really did.   
“Five beers is a start” he huffed. She almost looked offended at that. “You’ve always been a skinny ass then I recon”. The floor creaked when Joan leaned her chair back and placed her feet on the table, in a mock display of homeliness.   
“Food’s not always easy to come by when you live in a basement” she said. 

And there was a question lingering in the air, like electricity crackling just before a thunderstorm, the way it made your hair stand and you felt your nerves suddenly tense. But two things stopped it from slipping out. Daryl didn’t really want to ask. And he didn’t think Joan would answer anyway. This might just be enough of sharing for today. 

-

“I’m telling you, you’re doing it wrong”. Tabitha laughed as she held up the shirt and tried to hang it up to dry. “You gotta straighten the damn arms” she told Carl. He was also currently trying to hang up a flannel, but failing immensely. Around them was the rest of the washing, almost colorful hadn’t it been so drained of original looks (somehow they’d landed themselves on constant washing-duty. Not that they minded it). 

The boy huffed and blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Oh yeah? And who made you the master of laundry?” And then a wet sock made impact with his face. He gasped, and Tab laughed her high clinging laugh. “You bastard!” There would definitely had been a threat of revenge, hadn’t he smiled like a doof. 

They bickered a few more minutes, and then resumed their task.  
“So. I can’t place you. Are you straight? Gay? Pan?” she suddenly asked. Taken off guard, Carl nearly dropped the pair of pants.  
“Is that a legit question?”  
She turned to look at him.  
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it. I’m just sort of used to people who doesn’t really care about stuff like that, and I didn’t mean it to be offending or anything” she responded, trying to clear things up. 

Turning to his pants, Carl shrugged.  
“Not offended. Just surprised I guess. To answer it…I’m not sure I guess? I was just a kid when this all happened” he said, gesturing to his surroundings. “There just haven’t been time to…explore”. He seemed a bit uncomfortable about that last word. Nodding matter of factly, she showed that she understood.   
“That’s true”. Then she hung the last sock, picked up the empty basket, and walked close to him as she got ready to walk off. “Think about it” she said, and winked.

-

It was hot. The sun was beating down on them relentlessly, Georgia weather being nothing but a constant bitch. All around Antonia there was people working with her on strengthening the walls as they had been all day. And all of them were in t-shirts, or better yet no shirt at all. The sweat was glistening on the back of the big, red-hair one, which she was pretty sure was called Abraham, and close to her was Rick. His white shirt was plastered to his muscular back. 

Andy pulled the frayed edge of her shirt over her hand and using it to wipe the sweat of her face. Her only solace was that her hoodie prevented the others from seeing her pained facial expression. Yet Rick seemed to know anyway.

“Ain’t it too damn warm even without a shirt like that?” he asked, glancing her way. Beneath her hair she gave him a look back, one that he was probably lucky not having noticed. “Seriously, we don’t want you to pass out on us” he continued, leaning down to pick up some more nails. “You want to borrow a t-shirt maybe?” 

She felt cornered. Like a bleeding animal crouched down on all fours with the wolf three inches away. Heart beating harder, she swallowed around the thick lump in her throat. There was no way she could get out of this seeing the only two options were A) speaking, or B) taking her shirt off. 

She settled on the first one.   
“I’m fine”

Even if it was a short sentenced, all but whispered, it still made Rick look up and frown. Her heart felt like it was going to explode. 

There was no mistaking he wondered about how her voice sounded.

But it was her lucky day, and he dropped it. He shrugged and bent down to continue his work. And she got to keep her shirt on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for it being short, I'm having a really stressful time right now :/ But now I'm interesting in what you think? Any people you think should get together? Any other ideas? (I still have a plan for the story but I like hearing your thoughts :)


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